. . . arianainlove: confessions of a bisexual polyamorist . . .
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* it’s not lake merritt’s fault I wrote this poem * the wrestler misses your bed * Travelling With My Love In A Catholic Country * Rising Into Love With You * Poems Composed on 880 North / In the Middle of the Night / In the Storm * * * Visit My Massage Website:Present Touch Massage: Ariana Waynes, CMT * * * Love these ones, too:Apocalypse AngelCubicle GirlDipti OrangepeelerMarty McConnell Perceptions PostSecret Roger Bonair-Agard Sriram Wammo The Nation Democracy Now KPFA Michael Moore Furthermore, the notes are not automated - they are all written personally by me. So, you get an extra note/memo/letter (depending on my mood), in which I might just wax philosophic on any number of topics that seem relevant, preferably in a few sentences or less. Or I might talk about how it feels that you all are in this journey with me or I might talk about updates to the site. But whether I say very much or very little on any given day, it feels more personal. Like I'm talking directly to you. I feel more connected to the folks on the notifylist. There, I've said it.
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04.06.06 - 6:02 p.m. i want to keep a journal again. a public one. this one. i’m not sure why. and i’m not sure how. once upon a time i was a writer. it was my whole life and my whole identity. and then i stopped. developed all the other parts of me. and that was good. except for the part about not writing. for years. one of the reasons i stopped writing in my journal was that suddenly, i was concerned about the privacy of the people i loved. didn’t want their stories blurted all over cyberspace. & also, i lost a certain honesty. i did. i admit it. i know it. there was stuff i wasn’t ready to say to them directly and didn’t feel good with strangers knowing it, if they didn’t. i’m wanting a confessional. wanting to tell the world what’s going on with me. and wanting anonymity. but not that much anonymity. i’m a bit of an exhibitionist. always. still. & want my writing to be attributed to me. & my messiness. so i don’t know how to do it. and i know if i don’t tell the real stories – the ones that are troubling me, as well as the ones delighting me - there won’t be anything worth reading here. i know this. so i don’t know how to do it. how to master the nuance. it’s been a long time. and i’m not the same ariana. i’m not. i’m smaller. and fuller. and warier. and richer. and more introverted. and more intuitive. and more physical. and more clear. and more cloudy. and more metaphysical. and less mental. and more open. more of a painter and more of a seer. and more of a deviant than ever. and i think i want to write again. without the high bar of expectation i set for myself. i am not that ariana who wrote those poems. before. i’m ariana who loves. and sometimes does yoga. and sometimes wrestles. and sometimes paints. and reads children’s books and self-growth books. and very occasionally writes. and sometimes does diversity education with kids. and sometimes is an organizational genius. and sometimes plays computer games for 6 hours on end. and loves to travel and wants to learn spanish faster. and spends as much time naked as her life will possibly allow. i am ariana, polyamorist. ariana, lover. i’m excited to be writing this. it feels good to me. . . . before * after . . . it really means a lot to me when you say hello after stopping by. suddenly, i'm wanting this guestbook to be a forum for further dialogue. |
